


It's all too much

by SilverMaxwell (Endless_beginnings)



Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: Angst, Blood, Comfort, Crying, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Poisoning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-17
Updated: 2019-12-17
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:14:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21828043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Endless_beginnings/pseuds/SilverMaxwell
Summary: John learns there are consequences to what he says. Dire consequences.Or"Bigger than jesus"
Kudos: 39





	It's all too much

**Author's Note:**

> WOW THIS one ran away from us.  
> It's over 10,000, so get comfy kiddos!

_ “John, you have to apologize for what you said. Your foolishness is going to get someone hurt, you know." _

_ "Ah, sod off, Eppy. If someone gets mad, they're gonna go after  _ me _. You just worry too much, everything's gonna be fine..." _

The first time something happened, it was to the guy who drove them around. 

John honestly didn't even think he even knew the poor guy’s name, all he knew was that one day when they were in the midst of recording a song, Eppy came in and told them about how he had been killed in a car accident; something about brakes failing. It was a shame, but John didn't really dwell on it too much. He knew it was bad, but he couldn't really grieve for someone he hardly knew. 

Although, John began to care the next time something happened, especially when it involved their beloved roadie, Mal. 

Needless to say, John was thoroughly pissed off when he had learned that Mal had been run off the road by some lunatic. Mal was just a giant teddy bear of a man once you got to know him, so who would ever want to hurt him? 

It didn't even cross John's mind that the two deaths were possibly connected in any single way. Though they had both occurred within the same month. It was just a terrible coincidence. 

"I wonder if they'll ever catch the bastard that hit Mal," Paul announced to the four of them, letting out a sigh. 

They were standing in an alley connected to the studio, a clean little area frequented by the others during their breaks. John blew out a puff of smoke and watched it travel with a gust of wind that passed.

"I hope so, Mal didn't deserve it," George muttered, keeping his head down. Ringo silently nodded as he lit his own cigarette, shaking his head. 

The rest of their little break was carried out in near silence and soon enough they were ready to go back in. Well, all of them except Ringo. 

“I'll be in soon, I promise,” he had said, blowing some smoke out of his mouth as he spoke. And so, three of the four Beatles said goodbye to their dear friend and went inside without him, thinking he’d only be out there for maybe ten more minutes at most...

An hour passed and Ringo still hadn't come in yet. Of course, John knew he probably should’ve been more worried and  _ yes _ , there was a small part of him that told him something bad had happened. But he found himself ignoring that feeling as he strummed his guitar along with Paul and hummed some random little tune. 

“Boys, where in the  _ world _ is Ringo?” 

The exasperated voice of their manager made John finally look up to see him walking into the room, arms crossed over his chest. 

“Last we saw him was an hour ago,” George replied quickly, sounding nervous about the whereabouts of their drummer. He had suggested going out just to see if he was alright a little bit ago, but John had brushed it off. Ringo was Ringo, if he wanted to wander off, let him. He’d be back at some point or another. 

“Who knows? He might’ve wandered off, fallen in a sewer,” John joked, letting a little chuckle escape his lips as he - yet again - used humor to mask his true concern. Brian pinched the bridge of his nose, seemingly irritated by this. He stood there for a moment, taking in a deep breath and letting it out slowly before finally deciding to open his eyes again and speak. 

“You mean to tell me that Ringo has been out there for more than an  _ hour,  _ no less, and you’ve all done  _ nothing _ ? Not even check on the lad?” He inquired, looking rather tired as he glanced around at each of his boys. All except one, of course. 

They shook their heads in response, George and Paul actually seeming slightly ashamed by the fact that they hadn't done anything, while John just leaned back in his chair, appearing to not care. Brian sighed, shaking his head. 

“I’ll go get him…” He grumbled as he turned away, then left without another word, intent on bringing Ringo back inside. 

Barely thirty seconds had gone past when Eppy rushed back into the studio, a hand covering his mouth. Brian's face was white as a sheet as he trembled in place. The look on his face was all it took to fill John with worry, for he had never seen his manager so  _ distressed _ before. As if Eppy was about to be sick any minute now.

“What’s the matter?” John demanded almost immediately, shooting up from his chair and storming up to Eppy, only stopping once he was right in front of him. Up close, he could better see how much Eppy was shaking...And if John was being honest, it scared the hell out of him.

“It...It’s Ringo, he…” Brian paused for a moment to collect himself, but before he could continue, he was interrupted by Paul. 

“What’s wrong with Ringo?” Paul pushed on, standing up from his seat, Eppy's shaken look getting to him too.

"We…We need to call an ambulance," Eppy finally said as he let out a shaky breath, turning to George Martin who was peering down at them through the recording booth.

"Why?" George asked, worry creeping into his tone.

Eppy simply ran a hand down his face as he shook his head. He clearly wanted to explain what was going on, he just couldn’t seem to bring himself to, but John was sick of it. If Eppy wasn’t going to tell them what was going on, he was going to find out himself.

“He- Wait, John, don’t go out there!” John just ignored the desperate shouting from his manager as he pushed past him and left the studio through the back exit, determined to find out what had made him so distraught.

It was the smell that got him.

The alley usually smelled faintly of cigarette smoke, due to how frequently the four of them had their breaks there. Now, instead of the pungent smell of tobacco and ash, the smell of something  _ metallic _ lingered in the air. 

It was only then that John saw red. 

The red that covered pavement, the red that stained the chest of a white shirt on an all too familiar body, and the red that made a horribly sharp contrast against the pale skin of his unmoving friend.

John’s hand flew up to cover his gaping mouth, his eyes wide as he stared down at Ringo, desperately wanting to look away but finding that he  _ couldn’t _ . John took a small step backwards, feeling like he wanted to throw up.

“ _ Oh, Christ… _ ” He mumbled to himself, finally tearing his gaze away to look at something else instead. It was just some random crack in the ground but it was better than staring at all that  _ blood. _

"Ringo? John?" Paul's voice called out from behind him. The sound of shoes hitting the pavement could be heard, quickly making their way towards him and...The body.

"John? is there some-" Paul's words died on his tongue as soon as he registered the scene in front of him.

"Oh my _god_." Paul bolted towards the remains of their bandmate. Dropping hard on his knees, hands hovering over the still form of Ringo like he was debating his next course of action.

"Ringo? Ringo, oh my god..." He continued, rapidly blinking back the tears that were forming in his eyes. John could only stare, stuck in place a few feet back. He was just...In shock, he didn’t even know how to react.

"What's wrong?" George's voice traveled over from the doorway. John peered over his shoulder to see George rapidly approaching. 

"He…" John tried to explain, but he just  _ couldn’t.  _ He could hardly even process it himself. 

George's walking speed increased slightly when he saw Paul still hunched over Ringo, panic starting to rise within him while Paul was quietly repeating  _ "Oh my god" _ in disbelief like some sort of broken record player.

“Is that…” George’s voice dropped to a tone that was barely above a whisper when he realized who it was on the ground and what had happened, slumping back against the nearest wall like he couldn’t even hold himself up anymore.

“That...That’s Ritchie...That’s our Ritchie…” George sounded utterly heartbroken but even that could be considered an understatement. It was just...Awful. The whole thing was, and John could hardly believe it. Ringo wasn’t supposed to be dead, he was supposed to be happy and okay, he was supposed to be  _ alive.  _ They were even going to go on a walk later after they finished recording for the day. 

John wanted to be as far away from Ringo’s body as possible, taking another small step backward but freezing as he felt something crack underfoot. He moved his foot and was surprised to find a now broken necklace: a little silver cross surrounded by shattered plastic beads. John squinted his eyes to make sure he was seeing it correctly. Sure enough, he wasn’t just seeing things, but that also brought up the question of where it had come from. He knew it hadn’t belonged to any of them, yet...There it was anyway. 

He settled on not questioning it any further, he didn’t care. He felt as though he didn’t care about anything, he just felt like he had gone numb. There were going to be so many things that they’d need to work out like how they were going to tell the public, how they were going to finish recording their album, how the Beatles could even stay together in the first place without their drummer that they loved so much. But John didn’t care at the moment. He couldn’t bring himself  _ to  _ care because he knew that if he did, the pain would be unbearable.

Ringo was dead and John felt as if a little part of him had died too. 

The next few days went by in a haze which John found to be peculiar, but he supposed he was still in shock from what had happened. They all were. 

None of them went out into that alleyway for smoke breaks anymore, they couldn't even handle a mere glimpse of the faint red stain on the pavement out there without thinking of Ringo. 

Inside the studio wasn't much better, Ringo’s drum set having been moved to somewhere out of sight because it was too painful of a reminder. 

The remaining Beatles were sitting around the studio, unsure of themselves and what to do. That is, if they could even call themselves Beatles anymore. They weren't really Beatles without Ringo, they knew that much for sure, there was no replacing him. 

Someone brought in lunch at some point but John didn't even really notice. He wasn't that hungry anyway, just absentmindedly strumming away at his guitar. When he eventually glanced up, he saw that George had finished his own food and had moved on to eating John’s since he clearly wasn't going to eat it. At least one thing was still the same. George was still the same old George. 

After about half an hour though, George began to complain about not feeling well and more specifically, about how his stomach hurt.

"It’s from eating all that food, son." Paul mustered up a small smile. George gave him a rather weak glare, resting a trembling hand on his stomach, too bothered to give a real reply.

“Just...Wake me in an hour, alright?” George said quietly, hugging his arms to his stomach as he leaned back in his chair and stretched out his long legs. John hardly thought anything of it, it was just George not feeling well and needing to take a quick rest.

The hour flew by with John and Paul occasionally talking quietly with each other to try and keep their minds on other things, desperately trying to keep themselves distracted. 

At some point during the hour, George began to snore or...Something. It sounded like a slight hitch, as if he had tried to take in a bigger breath of air for some reason. The sound just got louder as time went on, but John and Paul brushed it off as snoring, not even giving it a second thought or noticing when the sound suddenly just stopped completely.

They continued their little chat until the time came to wake George up. 

"George!" Paul called out to the figure stretched across the chair. "Your hour’s up, time to get recording or Mr. Martin’s going to yell at us." But George remained asleep. John stood up and made his way to the youngest. 

"Get up, ya git." He nudged George's leg with his own foot in an effort to wake him but George remained still, head resting on the back of his chair and arms crossed over his stomach.

"George?" Paul said again, this time more quietly as worry started to seep into his voice.

"George, you alright?" 

John furrowed his eyebrows as a lump started to form at the back of his throat. He reached out with his hand to shake George's shoulder, at first gently but increasing in strength as George remained still.

“C’mon, Geo, wake up. This isn’t funny,” John said sternly, doing his hardest to mask his true concern as he patted George’s cheek, still trying to get him to wake up. When the cold feeling of George's skin finally registered John violently flinched back, watching his friend’s head fall limply to the side.

“George..?” He whispered hoarsely, though he now had a feeling that he wasn’t going to get a response. Looking closer, his blood ran cold when he realized that George wasn’t breathing either. 

" _ Fuck…" _ John cursed as he turned to Paul with wide eyes. "He isn't breathing," he managed to get out, feeling as though his entire body was shaking. 

" _ What?" _ Paul suddenly stood up and rushed over, causing a mic stand to topple over, breaking in half with a loud metal ring when it hit the floor.

The mic could be replaced, George could not.

Paul pushed John to the side, taking George's hand and putting two fingers to his wrist. He paled when he felt nothing. In a last-ditch effort he pressed his fingers against George's neck.

The studio was utterly silent. 

"Wait! He still has a pulse!" Paul cried out and John tried not to look too long at the tears in his eyes. “I-It’s weak, but it's still there.”

"We need to take him to the hospital."

They wasted no time picking up George and speeding off in Paul's car. On the way there, John internally cursed himself for not realizing what the sound George had been making was sooner. It had been him struggling to breathe. Their friend had been dying right beside them and they hadn't even noticed. 

They loudly barged into the hospital and as the nurses took him in, John was almost  _ certain  _ he was going to make it.

George never woke up.

This was possibly the worst week of John's life.

He had locked himself in his house, refusing to see or speak to anyone. Not Brian, not even Paul. But it’s not like he had very many other people to talk to in the first place since both Ringo and George were dead. 

He thought it had hurt when Stu died, but he found that this was  _ so  _ much more painful, losing two of his closest friends within the span of one week. 

At least he still had Paul. Paul had always been there for him and always would be. He had been there when John’s mother died, he had been there in Hamburg, and he had been there since the start of Beatlemania. John would always have Paul. 

Almost as if on cue, there was a knock at the door, and John didn't even need to look to know who it was. 

“Johnny, you’ve gotta let me in. If we’re gonna be miserable, we may as well be miserable together, right?” Paul’s weak voice traveled through the door and even though it was muffled slightly, John still heard it. 

That didn't mean he did anything about it though, not bothering to move from his spot on the couch. He was lying on his back, eyes fixed on the drab old ceiling as he let himself get lost in his own thoughts. 

“Fine. I’ll let myself in.”

John silently cursed himself for giving Paul a spare set of keys as the door opened and Paul stepped inside. 

“Leave me alone, Macca,” John mumbled even though he was too tired to actually mean it. He watched Paul wander over to him, noticing with a frown that his friend’s eyes were red and puffy like he had been crying before he arrived. 

“I’m not leaving. You’ve been stuck up in here for days and I know George and Ringo’s deaths have been hard on you, but they’ve been hard for me too. You’re not the only one who’s hurting, John.” Paul’s voice got softer as he spoke and he sat down on the couch by John’s legs, glancing at him.

“But…” He continued, taking a deep breath and then letting it out slowly. “We both know they wouldn’t want us moping around like this. They’d want us to be happy, to keep making music, to go on with our lives. I don’t think either of ‘em would want you to just lie around here all day.” 

John was silent for a long time, trying to process Paul’s words as he sat up from his spot, moving so he was sitting right beside his friend. He turned to look at him, blinking back the tears that were burning behind his eyes. He wasn’t going to cry, not in front of Paul.

“How do you know?” He eventually asked, his voice barely even audible as he spoke. He had a hard time believing Paul, it’s not like he could just go and talk to George and Ringo about their situation. 

“There’s the thing, I...Don’t know. But when me mum died, telling myself that kept me going,” Paul answered softly before a slight smile appeared on his lips for a moment, meeting John’s gaze. “And, well...You helped too,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck and looking away to stare at the floor instead.

John opened his mouth to say something, likely something that would make fun of Paul for being sappy, had he not been interrupted by a crash from the kitchen. The sound of shattering glass indicating that a window had been broken.

“What the hell..?” He murmured, eyebrows furrowing in confusion as he rose from the couch and moved so he could peer through the doorway into the kitchen. And he was alarmed to discover a man climbing in through a now broken window, seeming like he hadn’t noticed John yet. By the time he was completely inside John was ready to, quite literally, throw this guy out of his house because he obviously wasn’t there to just chat. 

John was about to go confront the man when he noticed the glint of something that looked rather sharp being held in his hand. He didn’t even need his glasses to know that it was a knife. He didn’t care about his own safety, he would’ve gladly gone to fight the intruder with no hesitation. 

That is until he remembered Paul. 

Had Paul not been there, John probably would’ve done something  _ seriously  _ stupid, but...Paul  _ was _ . And he had to protect him, John didn’t know what he would do if he couldn’t. He rushed away from the doorway and back to Paul, placing his hands on his arms and hauling him up from his spot.

“Paulie, we need to get out of here,” John whispered rapidly, clutching onto the sleeves of Paul’s shirt and trying to tug him towards the door.

“What’s going on?” Paul asked, sounding concerned though not letting John pull him anywhere until he decided to explain what in the world was going on. John sighed in frustration, attempting to drag Paul towards the door again.

“ _ Please,  _ I’ll explain when we get out of here, right now we need to-”

Heavy footsteps entering the room made John shut up for once in his life. Still holding onto Paul’s arms, he turned his head in the direction of the sound, wincing at the sight of the man standing in the living room and pointing a knife in their direction.

“You’re a bastard, John Lennon,” the man spat out John’s name like it was poison on his tongue, staring at said singer through narrowed eyes. John didn’t even notice it, but Paul had torn himself from his grip in a blink of an eye and was now standing in front of him to face the man. 

The man lunged forward and John didn’t even have a chance to react before the knife was buried deep within Paul’s chest. The image was surreal in a way, it just didn’t seem possible. Paul was standing there, a red stain quickly growing around the spot where he had been stabbed, brown eyes still wide with a mixture of surprise and fear. And then, he fell, sinking to the floor like his legs wouldn’t hold him up anymore. But John was there in an instant to catch him, holding his best friend in his arms. 

“No, no, no, Macca, please...Please, this can’t be happening…” John muttered, frantically trying to stop the bleeding as Paul struggled to breathe but instead just covering his hand in blood that was not his own. He choked back a sob as Paul grabbed onto the front of his shirt with shaking hands, confused to find that Paul was glaring up at him.

“Why...Why didn’t you apologize..?” Paul gasped out, his grip on John’s shirt progressively becoming weaker and weaker. “You...Could’ve saved me, Johnny…You…” His words died in his throat along with him and John’s shirt finally slipped out of his grip, eyes falling closed as he drew in his last breath.

John was sobbing as he still tried to process what the  _ hell  _ had just happened, refusing to believe it. Paul couldn’t be dead. He was John’s best friend, he couldn’t be dead, he wasn’t supposed to be dead. 

It  _ couldn’t  _ be happening. 

It  _ couldn’t  _ be real.

It just couldn’t…

John awoke with a gasp. 

He shot up in bed and his eyes rapidly darted around the room, searching for the intruder, for the knife, for the blood, for  _ Paul _ . His breathing only began to slow back to normal once he realized that he was simply just alone in his bed, holding onto the sheets so tight that his knuckles had turned white. It had just been a dream? Which meant that everyone was still  _ alive. _

John could’ve cried from relief, dragging his hands down his face as he leaned back against his headboard, squeezing his eyes shut tight to keep back the very possible tears. He never knew nightmares could be so exhausting, he didn’t even want to leave his bed, but he knew he’d have to eventually. They had recording they needed to get done that day.

Spotting the clock on his bedside table he realized just how late in the morning it was, if John didn't get up and ready  _ now _ he'd certainly be late to their session. Now, any other day he wouldn't have cared as much, telling himself that the others could wait a few minutes to start and already choosing the thing he would zone out to when Eppy would try to remind him that being on time was important through some long winded rant.

This morning, though, he  _ needed _ to see them. To make sure that they were alive and breathing, uninjured and just… _ There. _

John quickly threw on a shirt and pants, not caring about coordinating any outfit. He grabbed some random leftovers from the fridge, eating straight from the container he had stored them in to save time. He quickly brushed his teeth and simply ran a hand through the mess on his head, getting into his car in record time.

The entire drive there John felt jittery. His nightmare had felt so real, too real in fact. He had _ mourned _ them and fell into grief, even as he made his way to the studio, he could still feel the heartache clawing at his insides despite knowing (god, at least  _ hoping _ ) that George, Paul, and Ringo were currently inside the studio building, healthy and  _ safe.  _ Parking haphazardly he rushed into the entrance, narrowly running into one person as he ran to the recording studio.

Just as he was about to throw open the door a voice called out to him.

"Morning, John!"

Turning around fast enough to cause an ache in his neck, John spotted Mal's tall figure waving at him, approaching him with a few wires in hand. John felt a bit guilty that he hadn't been as affected by Mal's untimely demise in his dreams.

"Oh, mor- good morning Mal," John began rather awkwardly, gripping the handle of the door rather tightly. Mal quirked an eyebrow at John but smiled either way. "Drive over here alright?" John continued as he reluctantly let go of the handle.

"Was alright, I won't be staying for long though, Mr. Martin wanted me to go and fetch some equipment across town, some of the speakers are-"

"You don't  _ need _ to, do you?" John interrupted him, catching even himself off guard. He didn’t want to seem like he was acting too strange, but he couldn’t help it.

"Afraid so, the ones you lads are using today won't last any longer." Mal used his free hand to gesture towards the door.

"Oh, well, be careful then." John nodded to the roadie, trying to hide his nerves. Mal, a bit confused by John wording, simply laughed.

"Don't worry, I will." Then, with a quick goodbye to John, Mal left.

John turned back to the door, for a moment he stood still, before drawing in a deep breath and pulling the door open, quickly rushing inside.

"You're late!" Ringo's teasing voice called out to him and John didn’t think he had ever been so happy to hear him. 

John turned his head to see Ringo stretched across a chair behind his drums, hands in his pockets as he gave John a wide smile. John would probably never admit it out loud, but  _ god _ had he missed that smile.

Before John could reply George’s voice cut him off.

“You came in at least two minutes ago, Ritchie!” George was currently sitting in his usual chair, simply holding his guitar as he waited to start.

Right beside him sat Paul, a cigarette between his fingers as he watched the others talk on. And despite the relief of seeing them all here, completely unharmed and safe, John found he had nothing to say and found himself smiling so big his cheeks stung ever so slightly.

The intercom from the booth cackled to life and their attention was brought to the control booth. George Martin waved down at them as he leaned into his microphone.

“Good morning, lads! Ready to begin recording some instrumental?”

With that their day began.

John was grateful they recorded the majority of their vocals yesterday ( _ yesterday  _ felt so long ago) because John couldn’t focus on the music to save his life today. Halfway through the song his mind would flash back to his nightmare or he’d end up staring at one of his bandmates for just a bit too long and he’d end up missing a chord or speeding up at the wrong time. 

“John, you seem distracted today, is everything alright?” Mr. Martin’s voice came through the intercom, causing the others to turn towards John, catching him in the act of staring at Paul. John could feel the heat spreading across his face as he cleared his throat.

“Yeah, I’m...Good,” he answered sheepishly, fiddling with the E string of his guitar in an effort to seem indifferent to the attention.

“Actually, you do seem rather off today…” Paul said as he lowered his own instrument, frowning slightly at his friend. He could always tell when there was something up with John.

“I’m fine,” John insisted, plucking another chord rather harshly. “Didn’t get a lot of sleep last night, that’s all…” He mumbled, shaking his head even though he must’ve gotten a lot of sleep last night for his nightmare felt like it had lasted an eternity. “Let’s just...Keep going…”

And so, rather reluctantly it seemed, they continued recording.

John tried his hardest to stay focused and play correctly but the task was becoming rather difficult as his nightmare kept coming back to him. 

The last notes to their song hung in the air, John just managing to hold back a flinch as he had played the wrong chord, which had been _ very _ obvious.

Thankfully for John, just before anyone could say a word, the door opened to reveal Mal wheeling in a few amps on a dolley and another man with a tool box close behind.

“George! We have the amps you needed!” Mal announced to the room. George Martin made his way down while the Beatles watched on.

“Alright lads, we’re going to set these up, in the meantime you four can go on break for a bit.” Mr. Martin waved them off as he went to direct Mal on where to place the amps for the time being.

“Did you face any trouble getting them?” George Martin started as Mal moved one to the floor, the other man began to unload a few tools.

“It was fine until we were on our way back, was driving through an intersection and some mad man sped in front of us, he would have hit us too, had I not braked in time,” Mal explained, rather annoyed as he recalled the incident. 

John felt as if his heart stopped for a moment upon hearing Mal’s words, remembering the events of his dream. But...It hadn’t happened, Mal wasn’t dead, he was okay. At least real life Mal had enough common sense to brake, unlike the dream version of him.

“Hey, fellas, I’m goin’ out for a smoke,” Ringo suddenly announced, snapping John out of his thoughts and making him look over at the drummer who was making his way towards the back door.

“No!” John exclaimed, eyes wide as he jumped up from his chair and rushed over to Ringo, knowing what could happen if he let him go out there by himself. He finally realized how crazy he sounded, feeling the stares of his bandmates on him until he finally calmed enough to think of a valid excuse. “I mean, uh...I’ll...Come with…” He muttered, earning a confused nod from Ringo before following him outside.

It was a lot colder there than in his dreams.

The four of them made their way into the alleyway, each one taking and lighting their own cigarettes, it was quiet save for the occasional sound of a passing car. Each minute passed almost agonizingly slow for John, he was currently leaning against the wall of the building, constantly changing positions and picking at his nails to distract himself. He was barely participating with the other three in small talk.

A rather strong breeze came through the space, causing George to shiver. 

“Christ, it’s cold out here, I’m going back inside,” George announced as he turned around to head to the back door. Paul tossed his cigarette bud to the ground and smothered it with his shoe. 

“Yeah, me too,” Paul muttered as he blew into one of his hands, then rubbing them together to try and keep them warm.

“You lads go on ahead, I’m staying out for a bit longer.” Ringo exhaled a cloud of smoke, leaning back against the wall and shutting his eyes for a moment.

“I’ll be staying out too,” John was quick to agree, trying not to seem like he was acting too peculiar.

Maybe even too quick, as the others looked slightly surprised at his decision, but they didn’t question it. They just said their goodbyes and went back inside.

Soon it was just him and Ringo left in the alleyway, the two of them not even bothering with small talk. It was just silence, a silence that felt rather awkward in John’s opinion. He may not have been speaking, but he still kept glancing over at Ringo to make sure he was still there and not lying in a pool of blood on the pavement. 

As Ringo was snubbing out his own cigarette under his foot he turned towards John, opening his mouth to say something when he seemed to see something from the corner of his eye.

“Oh, someone’s coming over here,” he said casually, but the amount of fear that John felt at those few words was almost unreal. John moved forward slightly so he could see better, tensing as he caught sight of a man with his hands shoved into his pockets making his way over to them, seeming like he hadn’t yet noticed John. 

A sudden surge of anger came over him. Like hell was that guy going to do anything to the drummer; though a small part of him told him that it could be nothing, John wasn’t going to risk it. John stepped forward, grabbing the drummer by the arm and pulling him back. His movement so sudden that it caught Ringo off guard and forced a yelp out of him.

To Ringo’s surprise and utter confusion he found himself being practically held by John, who sent the most heated glare he had ever seen towards the stranger in the distance. The man saw the look on John’s face and his eyes went wide, taking a step back before quickly hurrying away, clearly freaked out by the threatening look.

“John, what was that?” Ringo asked in disbelief, moving away from John and turning so he could stare up at him and see his reaction better. John finally seemed to realize what he had done and felt his face heat up slightly, letting go of Ringo. 

“That guy, he just looked shady is all…” John replied quietly, sounding somewhat ashamed of himself before trying to figure out a way to change the subject. “It doesn’t matter anyway, let’s just go inside already, I’m freezing.”

So, they went inside, Ringo ultimately deciding on not pressing John’s weird behavior any further.

The amps were all set up when they got inside and both George and Paul looked ready to start playing again. Just as John was about to pick up his instrument (rather reluctantly, though) a voice called out to them.

“Boys! I brought lunch!” Brian announced to the room, carrying something as he walked in. In his hands was a cardboard box and inside the box was take-out from a nearby restaurant. “I bought you boys some fish and chips, since I know all four of you will eat it,” he paused. “Or, at the very least, George will.”

John had to admit, he didn’t have much of an appetite thanks to his dream, the images of his dead friends still fresh in his mind made him feel sick to his stomach. John highly doubted he was going to eat anything.

And he was right.

He had managed to eat about half a fried fish and was currently nibbling on a single chip. He really wasn’t feeling it today. The take-out container was cold, simply sitting on his lap as all he did was stare down it. He didn’t know if the stomach ache he had was just from the memory of his nightmare, or whether it was actually from the food. Either way, he wasn't gonna keep eating and find out, placing the container on some empty chair that no one had been sitting in. 

Unfortunately, John was so caught up in his thoughts that he had forgotten the one rule of eating lunch in the studio. 

Never leave your food unintended around a hungry George Harrison.

John almost didn't see him creeping over to his abandoned container of food, just barely seeing him out of the corner of his eye as he reached it. Panic rose in his chest as he turned towards George who had grabbed a couple of chips, the guitarist getting ready to eat them. 

John practically smacked the chips out of George’s hand, not caring about the disappointed look he received from his friend as the chips landed on the floor. He cared more about the fact that George's hands were warm, that they weren't cold and pale like in that awful dream.

“C’mon, John, really? If ya didn't want me stealing your food, you should’ve just said something, you didn't have to go and do... _ That _ ,” George complained as he rubbed at the spot John had hit him with a slight frown.

George would have continued complaining about the hit, had he not seen the look of  _ fear _ in John's eyes. Instead his mouth snapped shut as he gave John a more confused look. 

George looked up to meet Paul’s gaze across the room, who gave him a worried look.

There was definitely something up with him, they all knew that much for sure, but they just couldn't figure out  _ what _ . 

The day was a long one for John.

He managed to pull himself together enough to play the remaining songs and when he finished putting his guitar in his case he found himself  _ exhausted.  _ The others chatted around him and John found that he didn’t even have enough energy in him to nod along. He just wanted to get home and go to bed and hopefully get some sleep not involving any nightmares. 

He wasn't even paying attention when a reporter arrived at the studio, so caught up in how amazing sleep sounded at that moment that he hadn't even heard him come in.

He began to care though when he heard the reporter talking to Paul because even though he knew he had never met that man before in his life, his voice was  _ eerily  _ familiar to John. It sent a chill down his spine, but he had to look and see who it was, a sense of dread settling in the pit of his stomach. 

It was the same man from his nightmare. The same man who had stuck a knife into Paul’s chest without any hesitation and had likely killed all the rest of his friends too. The same man who had absolutely ruined his life in his dream. The same man who could probably do it just as easily in real life too. 

But John wasn't going to let that happen, he  _ couldn't  _ let it happen. 

“So, Paul, do you have anything to say about John's whole ‘bigger than Jesus’ comment? About the whole controversy he started, spoiling the reputation of The Beatles?” The man inquired, pulling something out of his pocket. _ “Knife” _ John's mind screamed at him while the reasonable part was telling him that it was just a  _ pen _ . A  _ harmless _ little pen. But then again, he couldn't tell for sure, too many coincidences had happened already, too similar to his nightmare.

He couldn't risk it being anything else. 

Paul started to say something in response but John wasn’t even listening, he was too focused on getting that man away from his friend. He rushed over to the two of them and without even thinking he punched the reporter right in the jaw, watching him stumble backwards.

“Back off him or I’ll cripple ya!” He yelled, about to go punch the man again until he felt someone grab him by the arms and pull him away, not struggling to get free only because he knew that it was Paul who was holding him.

" _ John!" _ Paul cried out in shock, pulling John further away from the reporter. "What the bloody hell was that for?" Although before John could even  _ try _ to make up an excuse, Brian’s voice yelled at him from across the studio.

“John Lennon! You  _ cannot _ simply assault the reporters for asking a question you don’t like!” Eppy hissed at him as he quickly made his way up to the poor reporter who was currently rubbing his sore jaw in a feeble attempt to alleviate the pain. John felt no remorse as Eppy guided the man off. Not even flinching from the glare Brian sent his way, indicating that Eppy was going to have a  _ long _ talk about this later.

“Why’d you-” Paul started in disbelief, his grip still strong on John. “What did you do  _ that  _ for?” He repeated with wide eyes. To Paul’s shock and slight annoyance, John simply turned around and made his way back to his seat.

John was tired.

As he made the short trip to chair he tried not to think too much about the stares George and Ringo gave him. The way George loosely held his guitar as he looked back and forth from Paul to him, how Ringo’s mouth was parted open from shock at what he had just witnessed.

“John!” Paul called out for him again, almost sounding as stern as Eppy.

John ignored him,  _ again _ , in favor of sitting down and slumping over and resting his head in his hands, taking the moment just to  _ rest.  _ It was like his body was waiting for a break because suddenly tears began to prick at his eyes. He tried his best to blink them away, keeping his head down, but when they started to fill his eyes he pulled up his legs and resorted to curling up in the chair, hoping that no one would notice his sadness.

“You can’t just go around  _ punching  _ people, y’know,” Paul almost sounded like a scolding mother as he spoke, letting out a sigh. “We’re not teenagers anymore, Johnny. We’ve actually got an image to keep up. And it’s not like people are too happy with you right now.”

John could hear muffled footsteps on the carpet making their way to him but he didn’t even bother with looking up to see who it was, he didn’t care. They were probably just going to scold him anyway.

“Yeah and I don’t think we can afford to have anymore drama caused by  _ you _ , John,” George added and at those words, John felt even worse. He knew he’d been making some questionable decisions all day, but he couldn't help it. He just…Wanted all of his friends to be safe and his dream had made him utterly  _ paranoid _ . 

“I hate to say it, but they’ve got a point. We’re all gettin’ hate for somethin’ you said, somethin’ we didn't even have any control over,” Ringo finally joined in on the conversation, sounding slightly ashamed that he had but still speaking nonetheless. John was full on crying by that point but no one seemed to notice…

Or maybe they had and just didn't care. 

Of course they didn't care, it didn't matter anyway, he was just being an idiot who believed in his dreams too much. 

“John, one of these days, someone’s gonna get so upset that their death threats are gonna turn into more than just threats,” Paul warned him, shaking his head just as John finally  _ broke.  _ A sob muffled by his hands escaped his lips and he looked up at Paul, his vision blurred by tears. 

“You really think I don't know that?” He barely managed to get out, attempting to swallow back the lump in his throat so he could talk without his voice breaking. “You really think I  _ want  _ to see you lot in danger ‘cause of something  _ I  _ said?” He demanded shakily, hoping that he seemed more angry than distraught. He didn't want to seem weak around his friends, the crying was already bad enough. 

“I had a nightmare last night, y’know. And I’ve gotta tell ya, seeing the dead body of one of your best mates covered in blood isn't a pretty sight,” John continued, the sarcasm in his voice evident as he risked a glance over at Ringo, trying to force away the image in his head of the drummer’s body on the pavement. “And not even realizing that one of them is slowly dying right beside you isn't exactly fun either,” he spat, flinching as he turned his gaze on George for a moment. 

“But y’know what the worst part was?” He asked slowly as his voice still threatened to crack, looking back up at Paul who was still staring down at him in shock. “I had to watch you  _ die,  _ Paul. In my arms. I had to watch as you bled out in front of me and I couldn't do a  _ thing _ to stop it. And you can't even imagine what I felt when the last thing you told me was that I could've saved you, that I could've saved you with just a simple apology…” His voice went quiet towards the end and he was silent for a moment, tears still rolling down his cheeks as the others just watched, still too surprised to speak. 

“It felt like my heart was being ripped out of my damn chest, Macca,” he whispered, hardly even audible anymore before he went back to crying into his hands, too embarrassed to look up again. 

Paul was fairly certain he had only seen John cry twice in his life. The first time being shortly after his mother had died, John having bottled up his feelings for so long that one night he let it all out to him and Paul had let him simply cry into his chest. The second time had been when Stu had unexpectedly died. John had gotten so drunk that night he could hardly walk and when he eventually stumbled back to the hotel, he sobbed all night to Paul about his dear friend.

As for George and Ringo, they didn't think they had ever even  _ seen _ John cry in the first place. So, the sight of their distraught band mate came as an obvious surprise to them. 

Ringo was the first one to react. 

He snapped out of the daze first and shot up from his seat, rushing over to John and doing the one thing he knew how to do when it came to comforting people. 

He hugged him.

And to his surprise, John immediately hugged him back. 

Ringo could feel his shirt getting wet from all the tears, but he didn't mind. If it meant making John feel better, he'd deal with it to help him out. 

John had to admit, he was a bit relieved to finally get the nightmare off his chest, but he couldn't stop feeling shame from sharing it. At least Ringo’s comfort was nice. 

“George, go get Brian,” Paul whispered to the guitarist who gave a quick nod before rushing off to go fetch their manager, he’d probably know how to help John. 

That's how Brian found them, surrounding John as he wiped away the few remaining tears. Eppy automatically went from vexed to worried at the sight of John’s expression, a frown making its way onto his lips as he walked over to his boys. They were his top priority after all, if he ever let anything happen to any of them, he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to forgive himself.

“What’s wrong?” He questioned almost immediately, seeming more like a concerned father than their actual manager as he stopped in front of the chair where John still sat with his head in his hands.

“Nothing, everything’s alright,” John mumbled, trying to keep the focus off himself while also doing his best to hide the fact that he had been crying just moments before. It was already bad enough that he had cried in front of his friends, he didn’t want to cry in front of Eppy too. 

“No _ ,  _ everything’s  _ not  _ alright _ ,”  _ Paul insisted with a heavy sigh as he turned his gaze on Brian, brushing off John’s statement of everything being completely fine. “John had a nightmare and, well...I think it really got to him,” he explained, John slightly irritated with Paul talking as if he was in a different room entirely and not just sitting right beside him.

“Oh, what makes you think that?” John asked in a snarky manner, glancing up at Paul through narrowed eyes. He knew Paul was just trying to help him out, but he was  _ terrified _ , and had the tendency to lash out at those he cared about in an attempt to mask his true emotions. Paul’s only reaction was a roll of his eyes.

Brian thought for a few moments, mulling over his words carefully. John was fairly complicated to deal with and when he didn’t want to talk about something, he wouldn’t talk about it. He was horribly stubborn and while it did have the habit of making Eppy rather upset with him at times, he had spent so many years with the singer that he felt as if he was somewhat experienced when it came to handling John.

“Boys, go wait in the other room, I want to talk to John by myself,” Brian said calmly, nodding his head in the direction of the door and waiting for them to leave before he turned his attention back on John.

When the door finally shut with a  _ 'click', _ Brian grabbed a stool from nearby, sitting down as he cleared his throat. When John still didn't look up to face him Eppy let out an almost audible sigh.

"Now, about this nightmare Paul mentioned..." He began gently, but John just scoffed and shook his head, crossing his arms. 

“It wasn’t a nightmare,” John said as if it were the most obvious answer in the world, clearly determined not to explain what had happened to his manager. Eppy held back another sigh.

“Fine, this  _ dream _ you had...” Eppy trailed off for a moment, then continued. “What happened in it?” He inquired, hopeful that John would actually talk to him and tell him what was wrong.

“Nothing worth talking about,” John replied quietly, his gaze fixed on the floor almost like he was trying to avoid the conversation entirely just by looking away. This time Eppy actually sighed. Of course John was going to be difficult.

“John, I can’t help you unless you tell me what happened,” Brian told him softly, but before he could say anything else, John interrupted him.

“Who said I wanted help in the first place?” He snapped but his wavering voice just proved that there was something wrong with him, that this nightmare that Eppy had heard so much about really had taken a toll on him.

“Being stubborn isn’t going to get you anywhere, John, and you’re not going to stop feeling so horribly unless you please just tell me what’s got you so upset. And who knows? Maybe I could help. But you have to tell me first, what in the world happened in this dream of yours?” 

Thankfully, that finally seemed to get to John and he swallowed hard to rid himself of the lump forming in his throat, not wanting to think about his nightmare but knowing that he’d have to. And besides, maybe Eppy  _ could  _ help him feel better. What did he have to lose?

And so, John rather reluctantly told him what had happened in his dream, everything from Mal being run off the road to finding Ringo in the alleyway, George getting poisoned and watching Paul die in his arms. He even told him about the death of the random driver, who he had hardly even given a second thought to, all the way down to the cross necklace he had stepped on in his dream.

John told him  _ all _ of it. 

He looked up at Eppy to see his reaction and flinched when he found that he was just staring at him, not saying anything yet. There was a long moment of silence and John was about to apologize for telling him all about his silly little dream, when Eppy spoke, interrupting him.

“John...Do you think you had this nightmare because...You feel guilty?”

" _ Guilty?" _ John repeated in disbelief, obviously confused by Eppy’s words. "Guilty of what?"

"Bigger than Jesus..." That was all that Brian said for a moment as he adjusted himself on the stool to lean in closer. 

"You talked about breaking a cross necklace in your dreams…" He began to list things off. "And you said that Paul, in your dream, told you that you should have apologized.”

John's mouth twisted a bit as he heard Eppy's reasoning.

"Whether you like it or not, there is a part of you that feels guilty, or at least, worried for the others that something bad might happen to them from what you said.” 

Finally, John looked Eppy in the eyes and for a moment Eppy thought he was going to flat out deny it.

"I… I guess so…" John quietly agreed, much to Eppy’s surprise. But at the same time, he was definitely relieved that John would at least say it out loud. 

“Then maybe, don't you think you should apologize for it?” Eppy asked cautiously, trying to be careful with his words because he knew that it was already difficult enough to get John to admit that he was feeling even slightly guilty.

John hesitated for a long time, his eyes fixed on the floor as he got seemingly lost in his own thoughts until finally, he looked up. 

“Fine.”

That one word was all it took to make Eppy smile, glad that John ultimately decided to make the right choice and agree to apologize to the angry public. 

“Wonderful, I’ll set something up for tomorrow,” Brian said, clasping his hands together as he rose from his seat and began to head towards the door because he was certain that they had everything worked out. 

“Hey, Eppy?” John’s voice was quiet but it was still enough to stop his manager right by the door, making him turn around. 

“Yes, John?”

John seemed nervous as he made his way up to Eppy and then, before he could stop himself, threw his arms around him in a hug. 

“Thank you for listening…” He mumbled and even though it was hardly audible, Eppy knew he meant it. 

“Oh, well...You're welcome, I suppose,” Eppy was unable to keep the mixture of shock and slight happiness out of his voice from actually being thanked by John for once. It was nice. 

And then as fast as it had come, it was gone and John had let go, not wanting it to become awkward. They went about their business after that, acting as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Thankfully, recording went  _ much _ better for the rest of the day, lasting until the sun had set and the moon had risen.

Paul, George, and Ringo all stayed over at John's house that night, but not for the sole reason of it being late and John living the closest. It was the worry they felt for him, and while they had rather forcefully made their way into John's home, fuelled by the need to help him, John didn't find it in him to turn them away.

_ Especially _ since Paul had offered to cook and Ringo had helped clean up a bit, John found himself in a much better mood even though he was squished by three other bodies on his couch, since no one wanted to sit on the floor (or leave John’s side for that matter).

Even if John only ended up getting three hours of sleep that night, it was still the best sleep he had gotten in a long time. But, he had another dream that night. And that one was much better than the previous one from the night before. 

In his dream, they were at a park, a rather pretty one at that, with green grass and colorful flower beds. The sky was blue and the air was fresh.

Paul was tossing bread to some ducks swimming around in a pond, trying to get George to join him...But George wasn't really in the mood to share his food. And all the while, Ringo was being chased around by a goose, John trying not to laugh as he watched his friends from his spot on a nearby bench.  _ Definitely _ an improvement from the nightmare. 

But then, something peculiar happened. John didn't know why, but he found himself looking around and more specifically, in the direction of a church that was close by. The building had wide brick walls that stretched to the sky, covered by tall stained glass windows. A single tower looked over it all, housing a large copper bell. At the foot of the tower was a wooden door, decorated with large metal handles. He found himself staring at that church just as the door opened and a man in black walked out, it was the same man who had showed up at the studio to interview them. 

The same man from his nightmare. 

John tensed up, expecting the worst, for the man to walk over and ruin things all over again...But none of that happened.

All the man did was give John a knowing smile and a nod that almost wasn't noticeable. It was almost like he was...Happy with John, happy with him for something he had done. 

Then, he was gone, disappearing out of sight as he went behind the building. And John didn't know why, but as he turned back towards his band mates, he found himself smiling too. 

John actually woke up happy the morning after having his dream, his  _ better  _ dream. He didn’t even care about the pain in his neck that came from falling asleep on the couch, he was just in a good mood. That is, until he remembered what he was going to be doing that day, he was going to be apologizing to the public for what he had said. He groaned and dragged his hands down his face, part of him regretting his decision but the other part glad that he was finally going to get it over with. He just had to keep on telling himself that he was doing it for a good reason, he was doing it to protect his friends and that was the best reason for doing something that he could think of.

“Sleep well, Johnny?” A yawn and a quiet question made John look over to see Paul sitting up, rubbing his eyes before he turned his gaze on John, raising an eyebrow at him. “Any nightmares?”

“Yeah...Lot better than last night, that’s for sure. And no nightmares this time.” John gave a quiet chuckle with his response, but there wasn’t a lot of real humor in it, mainly just relief that he hadn’t had another nightmare. 

"That's good," George piped up from beside them, not bothering to open his eyes. Ringo slept on, curled into the corner of the couch.

The morning went on smoothly enough, they had ransacked John's fridge for leftovers as no one wanted to cook breakfast, John loudly complained about having to clean the dishes later, but still he called them heathens as they ate out of the container instead of grabbing a plate.

The morning was a good one.

So when he found himself sitting on the couch a few hours later, surrounded by microphones and reporters and the hideous flower covered wallpaper, he couldn't help but wish to return to it. 

John fiddled with the sleeves of his suit, staring at the floor as everyone watched on, waiting to start the conference.

Maybe even waiting for him to mess up again.

John felt a tap on his shoulder.

He looked up, interrupting his slow descent into panic, to see Paul turned towards him, both George and Ringo peeking over his shoulder.

"You'll do fine," Paul said to him, quietly enough to not be picked up by the mics but loud enough for John to hear. Ringo gave him a blinding smile as George nodded his head in agreement. John breathed in deeply to collect himself, sitting up straighter as he faced the crowded room.

"Alright! Quiet down! We're starting!" Eppy yelled out from behind him, waving his arm to get their attention and giving John a reassuring pat on the shoulder before stepping back to stand against the wall, just so he could keep an eye on things. The talking went down to a light murmur, because the reporters never really did stop talking. But when did they ever stop?

John, knowing he had the unwavering support from his friends, cleared his throat.

"Well, about the things I said…"


End file.
